


Duck, Duck, Goose

by RileyC



Category: DC Extended Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate Goose of Enforcement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-23 21:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: Legend has it that every now and then, when two people really and truly belong together, but perhaps need a nudge in the right direction, the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement will turn up out of the blue to see that this happens.Bruce Wayne does not believe in the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement. The goose will soon take care of that...





	Duck, Duck, Goose

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [鹅兆鸳盟](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561372) by [sylvansue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvansue/pseuds/sylvansue)

“Oh my.” It wasn’t that Alfred Pennyworth had not anticipated this day. In fact, he had spent the better part of twenty years in expectation that it would arrive at some appointed date. He had begun to despair of living long enough to see it, however There had been many promising candidates, but when even Miss Selina Kyle failed to elicit so much as a honk of portent, even the most optimistic nature would have conceded the odds weren’t looking good.

But now there it was, just coming up from the lake and waddling toward the house. It stopped on the patio and trained its baleful gaze on him for an instant before sliding past, in search of its true target. Finding it, the goose flapped its wings and honked with fowl abandon.

“What the hell is that?” Bruce asked, coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth.

“It is a goose, sir. Canadian, I believe.”

Bruce gave him a look which conveyed that even at just past eleven, it was far too early in the day for this sort of thing. “I can see it’s a goose. What’s it doing there?”

“Unless I am very much mistaken, Master Bruce, it’s here for you.”

Bruce stared at him again, disbelief and denial blended in his expression, accompanied by an impulse to ask if Alfred had been nipping at the cooking sherry. Wisely keeping that thought to himself, he regarded the goose once more, still there, just beyond the glass, and shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

As though it too heard and understood, the goose cocked its head.

“Alfred, I’ve told you before: there is no such thing as a soulmate goose of enforcement. It’s a legend, a myth. A fairy tale someone dreamed up so anyone disappointed in love could tell themselves it wasn’t their fault. It was because some magical goose had never come along.” And although Bruce spoke these words with conviction, Alfred sensed there was something rehearsed about them. One was rather inclined to think someone protested a bit too much, in fact.

That knowledge ran through his mind as Alfred weighed and rejected arguments. In the end, there was little a bystander could do, no matter how invested in the outcome. One accepted the goose, or one did not. Citing precedent could do no harm, however.

“I’m given to understand your mother held much the same opinion, before the goose came for her,” Alfred said as they stood and watched the goose, now hunkered down with every appearance of staying put for the long haul.

While Alfred had not witnessed the start of the affair, he had been present for its conclusion. There had been a garden party at the manor that finished up with a croquet match. Dr. Wayne had been poised to score the winning point, when a great angry goose had burst from the shrubbery and gone right for him. As guests scattered and Dr. Wayne used his mallet to keep the honking beast at bay, Miss Martha Kane had appeared, winded from chasing the goose in question, and trying to distract it from its intent to eviscerate Thomas Wayne. Alfred had been attempting to edge around and offer his assistance, wondering if he could successfully bean it with a croquet ball, when the beast had broken off its attack and, with the air of mission accomplished hovering about it, waddled off down to the pond. When Alfred turned back, Dr. Wayne and Miss Kane were holding onto each other, laughing, and then suddenly going still as they looked at each other, as though properly seeing each other for the first time, and it was then everyone knew the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement had been at work.

Bruce knew the story well enough. Alfred could tell he was remembering it now, assorted tells betraying his thoughts. A brief smile as he pictured his father brandishing a croquet mallet in self-defense, a wistful glance outside as he imagined his mother chasing down the goose and finding his father. Alfred could also tell when Bruce chose to push the idea away, his jaw firming up with resolve and his shoulders going back as he stood straighter.

“It’s a good story, Alfred,” he said turning away from the glass and the goose, “but that’s all it is.”

“Sir--”

Bruce put up a hand to forestall him. “All right, maybe there was a goose. Maybe it did pester my mother. That’s all there is to it. They already knew each other. It didn’t need some magical goose for them to get together.”

“The goose helped.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and put down his coffee cup. Both hands raised as though to ward off destiny, he said, “Enough about the goose. I don’t want to hear about the goose. I don’t want to see the goose unless it’s roasted and ready to eat. Are we clear?”

“Quite clear.”

“Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me…” And with one menacing glance back at the goose, Bruce made his exit.

The goose watched him go, its own gaze loaded with venom.

Alfred sighed and told it, “You have your work cut out for you, my feathered friend.”

It replied with a honk of agreement.

~~~

_ The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement… _ Why not the Hedgehog Portent of Doom? The Unhelpful Giraffe of Algebra? The...the Ungulate of Awkward Conversation?

About out of steam, Bruce yanked off his third necktie, displeased with all of them, and left his collar open. This was no day to be concerned with four-in-hands or half-windsors. The goose was here. The goose was here, and it was too goddamn late.

He had made peace with it a long time ago. That kind of match, the kind his parents had found, wasn’t in the cards for him. It wasn’t so bad. If Selina...Talia...others weren’t  _ the _ one, they were still good company, and he had no regrets when he looked back. He’d put the idea from his mind, convinced himself the goose really was an urban myth, one of the more ludicrous ones at that, and had been one hundred percent fine with that.

Right up to the moment Clark Kent appeared on his radar and made that conviction crumble like a sandcastle smashed by a tsunami.

Would anything have changed if the goose had appeared the first time they met? He’d thought about that, later, when Clark was gone and everything involving him was a brutal moot point. Maybe, if the goose had appeared at the gala and gone after Luthor, he and Clark might have bonded over that. He couldn’t see any other opportunity for the goose to have intervened. Later, when Bruce had been blinded by anger, only thirsting to mete out vigilante justice on Superman--later would have been too late.

If it was meant to be, where the hell was the goose when Clark came back? Like it couldn’t have waddled out of the Russian landscape and done its job? 

And all right, that may not have been the ideal time, but there had been other opportunities. Half the reason Bruce was at the farm that day, watching the movers unload the truck, watching Clark come over to join him, was because he’d thought this could be it, this could be the time. Even while he admitted to buying the bank, he had kept an eye out for the goose. It was a farm. Farmers raised geese, right, sometimes? When could there ever be a better time for it show up?

There had been chickens scratching in the yard, and as they had all sat on the porch late into the evening Bruce would swear he’d heard a duck quack somewhere nearby. No goose, though. Not one solitary honk in the night.

So that was that. If the goose couldn’t track him down on a farm in Kansas, it wasn’t meant to happen. End of story and back to reality. Wanting Clark--that was reaching far too high. Any idiot could have told him that. The one in the mirror should have known that going in, right from the start.

Clark and Lois--that was the match of the century, any century. And, all right, maybe they were going through a rough patch right now but it would work itself out in the end. Couples broke up and got back together all the time, and they didn’t need a goose to help them get there.

Mind made up to carry on as usual, Bruce grabbed a coat and decided a walk up to the manor would be just the thing to banish these thoughts and the mood that went with them. The restoration was making good progress, and the Justice League headquarters would be good to go soon. That was something real. That was something he could manage and direct. 

Alfred was preoccupied with something in the kitchen--looking up how to cook a goose, Bruce hoped--and only nodded to him in passing. There was no sign of the goose, actually, not a feather to be found. Already in a better mood he let himself out of the lake house and set out for the manor at a brisk pace.

It was a good day for a walk. Quiet, with crisp notes of autumn in the air. He didn’t miss the humid heat of summer, and was not looking forward to the bitter cold of winter. These few weeks of autumn, though, were as close to perfect as anything could get. Fallen leaves, crimson and gold, rustled underfoot, and he paused to watch the breeze gather up a batch and whirl them along the footpath. He turned up his coat collar against the chill in that breeze and cast a look at the sky. It was gray and overcast, but any chance of rain was supposed to be remote. His feelings wouldn’t be hurt if it held off indefinitely. Patrolling in a thunderstorm wasn’t one of his favorite things, either. 

Picking up his pace, he was in view of the manor now. The constructions workers had cleared off for the weekend, leaving the crane and other equipment behind. Once the restoration was complete, he and Alfred would see to the interior--well, perhaps enlisting some help to speed things along. He couldn’t really see Arthur getting into the spirit of the thing, and Diana would mostly likely appoint herself overseer, but Barry and Victor might like to pitch in. And Clark… 

Great: he so did not need  _ that  _ image popping into his head. There it was all the same, his imagination whipping up a picture of Clark, in nothing but skintight jeans and a hardhat, swinging a sledgehammer. 

_ Damn it to hell… _

A rustle of dry leaves provided a welcome distraction and he glanced around, trying to isolate the sound, fingers slipping into a pocket of his coat and curling around a batarang. Probably a squirrel or something, he had about decided, muscles relaxing, just as the goose stepped into view and screamed at him.

Officially done with this, Bruce growled, “You want a piece of me? Well bring it on,” as the goose came at him. He flung the batarang at it. It dodged, circled behind him, wings flapping, darting in to bite at his leg. He shook it off, grabbed another batarang. It flew right at him, forcing him to stumble and faceplant in a pile of leaves. He pushed up on his arms, kicked out at the goose as it danced around him, flapping its wings and honking. He didn’t come close to connecting. He rolled away, came up in a crouch, and waved the bird to come at him. “Come on, you bastard, come and get me.” It darted forward, he saw his chance and went for it, and got both arms around it, beak facing away from him as he held it tight against his body. “You’re the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement? Good for you.  _ I’m _ the goddamn Batman.”

“Bruce? What are you doing?”

Oh for the love of… He looked up to see Clark--Clark, fully clothed, right down to that plaid jacket--walking toward him from the manor. The goose, seizing the moment’s distraction, squirmed free and scooted over to greet Clark with a plaintive honk. Frowning, Clark scooped the goose up into his arms and cradled it to him, soothing its ruffled feathers as he petted it and spoke to it. Bruce had had no idea a goose could look smug, but there was no other description for its expression as it looked over at him right then.

Taking a moment to brush leaves off his coat, and snag the useless batarangs, Bruce shoved his hands in his coat pockets and went over to join Clark--and the goose. “How much did you see?”

“Enough.” Satisfied the goose was unharmed, Clark set it down. It settled down to preen, evidently intent on nothing more than getting every feather back exactly so. “You’ve got twigs in your hair,” he said, reaching over to pluck at them.

Bruce stood still and endured Clark touching his hair, finding a leaf stuck in his collar and removing that as well. He was tempted to say it hadn’t been what it looked like, but he was pretty sure it  _ had _ looked like he was trying to strangle a goose, so… “Why are you here?”

Head cocked to the side a bit, eyebrows drawn toward each other, Clark contemplated him for a moment before giving those broad shoulders a shrug. “We’re not going to talk about the goose?”

“What do you want to know about the goose?”

Another shrug, then, “Do you have some grievance against geese?”

“I’m fine with geese. They’re delicious.”   
  


Clark and the goose chastised him with a look.

Nothing else happened. Bruce didn’t know why, for just a split second there, he had thought it might. “It was stalking me.”

Clark gave him an unreadable look, unreadable except for a glimmer of something that suggested Bruce might be in need of a trip to Arkham. “Okay,” was all he said, however. 

They walked on in silence for awhile--Bruce, Clark, and the goose--and Bruce hoped that meant they were done with the subject. “Did you want something?” he asked as they neared the manor. Ordinarily he didn’t mind Clark just dropping by, but just at this moment it felt a lot like his face was being rubbed in what he could never have.

An unusual diffidence radiated from Clark. It was in his voice, a cautious note, as though he was crossing into dangerous territory. “I wondered if you had plans. Maybe we could,” there was something uncertain in his shrug this time, “have a movie night. Or something.”

A movie night. Or something. Thoughts racing at warp speed, Bruce fought not to let any of it show as he asked, “What about Lois?”

“What about Lois?” Clark stopped and turned to face him, one hand catching him by the shoulder. “Lois broke up with me. I told you that.”

Just to see, Bruce tried to move away. Clark exerted just enough force to keep him there. “You’ll get back together. You’re meant to be with her, Clark.”

“Lois doesn’t think so, and I agree with her, with all her reasons. So does the goose,” Clark finished, jerking his chin at it.

So did the… Bruce shook his head, as though that might jostle things together so they made sense and nobody stood around talking about how a goose concurred with developments. It didn’t work. “Clark, it’s just a goose.” And damn it, he refused to acknowledge it had just rolled its eyes at him.

“It is not just a goose, Bruce. I knew that when it came up to me on the ferry.”

When it-- “You’ve seen it before?”

“Just today, on the ferry. I followed it out here but then it took off.”

“You...know what it is?” 

“Believe it or not, we have heard of the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement even in Kansas. I never saw it with Lois, though, and wondered why. Now I know,” he said, brave like Superman now as he looked at Bruce, hope shining in his eyes.

Only a monster would want to crush out that hope, and Bruce found he didn’t have it in him to do that. Not today. He looked at the goose, took in its smug self-satisfaction. “If you’ve fucked this up,” he warned it, “you’re going to be Christmas dinner.”

“Bruce, quit picking on the goose and kiss me.”

“For the last time, I am not picking on the damn goo--” Clark tugged him close and shut him up with a kiss.

Well, that worked, too.

~~~

Taking a moment’s break from chopping wood, Alfred glanced over at the footpath to the manor. Movement caught his eye, and he watched as the goose waddled into view. Passing him, it looked over once as if in acknowledgement, before proceeding on down to the lake.

Alfred watched it drift off, vanishing into the mist rising off the water. Dare he hope? he wondered, holding his breath as he looked back up the path, and letting it out with a soft whoosh of relief as Bruce and Master Kent came into view. As he watched, the two younger gentlemen stopped and Bruce turned to Master Kent--even from this distance, Alfred would swear Bruce was smiling--and drew Master Kent into a rather passionate embrace.

Well. Alfred looked away, struggling to maintain his composure. “Well done, goose, well done,” he murmured, smiling to himself as he gathered up the wood and disappeared back into the house.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Soulmate AU' from my "dcbingo" card on Tumblr. Inspiration for the Soulmate Goose of Enforcement  
comes courtesy of the tropes section of Fanlore, and was dreamed up by boxstorm, who I do not know but thank from the bottom of my heart, because this is something that would have otherwise never occurred to me. For better or worse I leave to others to decide. :)
> 
> And hey, look at me getting fic written again!


End file.
